


End Times

by Tierra469



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel ships Spock/Kirk, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family Feels, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Jack being Jack, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode s15e13, Pre-Slash, Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23429797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: “You are strong, young one,” the Empty sneered at Jack, while Dean and Sam watched wide-eyed from the floor. “But you can’t destroy nothing, now can you? Come now, Castiel and I made an arrangement, and you all got what you wanted. You live, boy. I see you even found your soul. But Castiel’s happiness called to me—and now he is mine. That was the deal.”“Castiel made a bad deal, and I’m breaking it,” Jack snarled, and Castiel thought fleetingly that that sounded vaguely familiar.This is a story about how Cas escapes the Empty, but mostly it is a tale of family, love, and good human things. It takes place where the last episode left off in Season 15.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	End Times

“I think I’d like to sleep now, Castiel,” Jack said, finally sliding down under the covers on his bed. He smiled softly. “Goodnight.”

“Alright then,” Castiel answered, unfolding himself from the end of the bed and standing up. He bent over the boy, fussing a bit with the blanket, not wanting to leave yet. Not quite ready to let Jack out of his sight.

Jack reached down and touched Castiel’s hand. “I’m really ok,” he said earnestly.

Castiel met his eyes. “Yes,” he replied. “I believe you are.”

“I just need a short rest. After everything that’s happened.”

“Of course.” Cas straightened up and forced himself toward the bedroom door, but Jack stopped him at the threshold.

“Cas?”

“Yes?” He turned around again.

“I love you. Thank you for believing in me.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile, a flush of warm energy enveloping him. “I love you too,” he replied, and stepped into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

It felt so incredibly good to have Jack back again, soul and all. Castiel leaned against the wall and just reveled in the relief for a moment, the surcease of sorrow. Jack… the boy who felt like a son to them all… was back. Jack’s death had been such a bitter blow—such an unexpected grief—and at the hand of God, no less. It had nearly been at the hand of Dean, which would have been even worse. Castiel had surprised himself with his own depth of despair over all of it.

Just knowing Dean was willing to kill the boy had been dreadful—and then to suffer Dean’s all-consuming anger and rejection for days after Jack died... it was enough to bring the angel to his proverbial knees. Enough to send him away from the only family he had left. Nearly enough to send him back to the Empty, if he could have borne the thought of giving an ounce of satisfaction to the ghastly Keeper.

That was all in the past now. And while the future did not exactly look bright, there were lights again. Dean had forgiven Castiel, and he found that he could forgive Dean, too. And now Jack was here on a mission from Billie to save the world, he had his soul back, and it seemed that Dean was possibly even pleased—might even forgive him for what he’d done to Mary.

Wonder after wonder.

Still smiling to himself, he wandered down the quiet hallway of the bunker, heading nowhere in particular. It was late at night, his friends probably asleep at last. Rounding a corner, however, he came across Dean shuffling out of the bathroom. The man stopped short when he saw the angel, rubbing one tired eye. Dean was barefoot, sleep-rumpled, wearing a t-shirt and flannel pants. Cas knew better than to try to converse with him during most such late-night encounters, but rather than head back into his bedroom tonight, Dean leaned against the wall, sighing.

Castiel tilted his head, waiting to see if Dean wished to talk.

“Jack ok?” Dean asked.

“Yes. We talked for some time, but he says he’d like to sleep now. I imagine he could use the rest, after what he’s been through.”

“Mmm, yeah. Realizing you’ve been a horrible monster takes a lot out of a guy.”

Cas frowned. Maybe this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now.

Dean glanced at him, then away. He softened his tone. “I dunno man, I… I’m happy to have the kid back, in spite of it all. Even happier he’s got his soul again, and he knows he fucked up. It’s… it feels like a win somehow. And we really need a win right now, y’know?”

“Yes, we do.”

“But this ‘Messengers of God’s Destruction’ crap is freaking me out. I just had a weird nightmare.”

Dean stared down the hall at nothing, rubbed his arms as if he were cold. Castiel reached out impulsively to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Do you want to describe it to me?”

“No. No, I just… suffice it to say I’m a little overwhelmed. You know?” He looked back at Cas, his face open and anxious.

Cas nodded. “I understand.” He certainly did.

“You really trust Jack again, Cas? You think he’ll be ok?”

Cas smiled wanly, dropping his hand. “You trust my opinion on this?”

Dean’s mouth quirked, and he snorted. “I dunno. You trust me not to kill him in his sleep now?”

“I suppose I have to.”

“Ditto.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, staring at the floor, and Cas imagined Dean was feeling as raw as he was. It was not something he liked feeling, but… he’d realized it was a part of being human and loving humans, this vulnerability. Loving other beings meant opening to them, and opening meant pain as well as pleasure. He was amazed at how many times he’d failed Dean, and how many times his friend had chosen to give him another chance. And as callously as Dean sometimes treated him, he could not imagine leaving forever. Because they were bonded, yes, but more importantly, because there was love. Their wounds over Mary’s and Jack’s deaths might have barely scabbed over, but the love they all shared was the balm that soothed and healed.

He treasured it more than life.

“If you can’t sleep,” Cas suggested, “would you like to watch TV with me? That always relaxes you.” He lifted his eyes and Dean met his gaze.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “OK. For a bit.”

They turned toward the Dean-Cave, as Dean called it, and his friend laid a hand on his back momentarily, a gentle gesture that felt like a small gift. They shared a side-eye glance.

Cas slipped into the kitchen at Dean’s suggestion to make a quick bag of microwave popcorn, and by the time he got down to the TV room with it, Dean had already cued up a movie. It was the last one they’d left in the DVD player and hadn’t finished. They’d watched it before, of course, but it was one of their favorites— _Star Trek Into Darkness_. Nearing the end of this one, the _Enterprise_ is warring with Kahn’s spaceship, and they are both disabled and dragged into Earth’s gravitational field. Kirk enters the radioactive reactor chamber on the _Enterprise_ to save his ship and crew from crashing to Earth, sacrificing himself in the process. Spock says a gut-wrenching goodbye as Kirk is dying in the decontamination chamber. Kahn crashes his ship into San Francisco but escapes the wreckage, and a grief-stricken Spock goes after him with a vengeance. Cas never tires of watching the Spock and Kahn fight scene, but…

“This won’t be particularly relaxing, Dean.”

Dean patted the couch cushion close beside him, and Cas handed Dean the bowl of popcorn and a beer, then removed his trench coat and suit jacket, draping them over a chair—because he knew it bothered Dean when he was “overdressed” on the sofa. He took a seat where Dean had indicated, and Dean put the popcorn back into his lap.

“What, you wanna watch _Nova_ or something instead?”

“If you’ll find it calming.”

“Dude, you know you love this.” Dean pressed play, and the action commenced.

Castiel reflected on Sam’s insight into his love of _Star Trek_. The second time they’d watched the TV show, Castiel had observed out loud that he found Spock’s character admirable. “I like this Mr. Spock,” he’d said.

Sam had snorted and shook his head, “Dude, you ARE Mr. Spock.”

“Does that make me Kirk?” Dean had quipped with his mouth full of snack cake.

“No man, _I’m_ Kirk,” Sam replied, grinning. “You’re Uhura.”

They’d both laughed, but Castiel had realized that he indeed loved _Star Trek_ for the way that the brave characters Spock and Kirk—different species from different planets—nevertheless shared love and trust and a bond that was unbreakable. And they always triumphed in the end, whether that meant saving one man or an entire universe.

“Should Kirk have violated the prime directive to save the planet Nibiru?” Cas asked casually, shaking the popcorn bowl so the un-popped kernels fell to the bottom. He knew the answer—he just wanted to hear Dean say it.

“Hell, yeah,” Dean exclaimed through popcorn. “Wouldn’t you have?”

Cas smiled to himself. “Yes, of course.”

They watched the movie companionably, munching their popcorn, Dean drawing his bare feet up underneath him for warmth, which caused their thighs to press together comfortably. Castiel didn’t move over, because Dean didn’t ask him to. When the movie ended, Dean found a program about giant squid—which also never got old—and they watched that in silence together, until Dean’s head began to nod.

“Do you want to go to bed now?” Cas asked him.

Dean shook himself. “Naw,” he replied. “I’m good.”

When Dean bobbed again, Cas reached over and gently pulled Dean’s head to his shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, time fer bed,” Dean mumbled. But instead of getting up, he relaxed into Castiel’s body, slumping into sleep.

Cas turned his head to look at his friend, heavy against his side; soon Dean would be drooling on his shirt. Just days ago, Dean could hardly look at him or speak to him, and now… now he was given this grace, this trust. With Dean’s heart open once again, Castiel could go back to basking in the warmth of his favorite soul. Dean’s love made Castiel’s energy burn so much brighter. Just like… well, just like God used to. Only God had never fallen asleep on Castiel’s shoulder.

Dean’s left hand lay open in his lap, fingers curled, and Cas reached down to brush his knuckles gently. How many times had he healed that hand? Inclining his head just an inch or two, he dared to plant a kiss in his friend’s hair. Never had he been quite so brave, or presumed to be so intimate—but it felt right. Castiel wished fervently that he could feel this closeness as a human would—Dean’s warmth, the smell of his body, the touch of his hair against Castiel’s lips. It wasn’t meant to be, perhaps—but he was at the very least thankful for what it _was._ It was wonderful.

Jack was here, Sam was here, Dean had welcomed him back—they were a Family again—and perhaps, with Billie on their side, they even had a chance to win this fight. They had hope, and they had love. It was all he could have wished for, and he was… happy.

That’s when it began.

He felt an odd sensation at his human feet. A coldness, as if they’d fallen asleep. It was something he hadn’t felt since being human. He frowned—he couldn’t lift his feet to see them; they seemed to be nailed to the floor. He widened his awareness, and realized that something was now reaching into his grace, too. Infiltrating his energy.

Setting hooks into him, like a fisherman after his quarry.

“Oh no,” he breathed. “No, no…” With a very human sinking feeling, he knew immediately what it was—the Empty had come.

The coldness began to creep slowly upward, now at his ankles. He was pinned in place, helpless to move. His grace had no escape either, and it began to swirl about inside him, slowly, moving earthward like water being sucked down a deep, dark drain.

He should remain calm, he thought. He shouldn’t upset Dean. Perhaps he shouldn’t even wake him. This was Castiel’s problem, the result of his own bargain—the deal he made to bring Jack back to them the first time. The Empty had refused to take him then—it said it would wait until he was _happy._ Would that ever happen? he had wondered. Perhaps the Keeper was angry that he’d been there hours earlier to speak to Ruby, and escaped—had it broken the deal? Or was it here now because he was actually happy? Happy, in something so simple as his beloved friend drooling on his shirt? _Happy_ , despite it all! Why did the Empty have to be so cruel? Was this fair? He had no right to complain about fairness. Perhaps this was what he deserved, after all he’d done, all the chaos he’d sowed. But if he had no free will after all—if everything he’d been and done was just part of God’s latest novel, and not his own doing—how did he deserve to be punished for his happiness? How did any of them deserve it?

His thoughts whirled, carried along with his grace, and meanwhile, the blackness had reached his knees. Perhaps he should wake Dean—they were so close, what if Dean were somehow pulled into the Empty with him? That wouldn’t do. And didn’t Dean deserve to know what was happening to Castiel? But Dean would be angry; he wouldn’t like Castiel’s deal. What if he blamed Jack?

His grace was flowing from him now, slowly but inexorably—he could feel himself waning. Mercifully, he thought, there was no pain—but the minute that thought took form, his grace began to _burn_. Set alight, it suddenly became a flaming tornado, scorching him from within, and he cried out sharply, startling Dean from sleep.

“Guh, hey, what…” Dean flailed for a moment, sat up, looked down—and saw the clinging darkness engulfing his friend below the knees. He leapt off the sofa like he’d been goosed. “Cas! What the… what the fuck is _that_? Dude, what’s happening?! Shit, am I dreaming?”

Castiel gasped, trying to catch his human breath, trying to form words around the pain. He looked up at Dean wide-eyed. “No… you’re not dreaming. I… I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry. It’s come for me.”

“What… _what is it_? What’s come for you?” Dean repeated, eyes blazing. “Cas, talk to me!”

“It’s the Empty. I made a deal and it’s come for me.”

“You made a fucking deal?! What kind of deal? Cas what can I do?” The blackness crept up to his thighs now, and the pain quickly became excruciating. He felt an awful sense of deja-vu—it was like the night Ramiel had stabbed him all over again. Having to see the trauma and horror in his friends’ eyes—having to fear for their safety. Why had the Empty not just taken him quickly?

At least this time, he didn’t think his friends were in danger.

“It’s ok, Dean… it will be alright,” he tried to soothe. “It’s not after any of you—just me. Just… stay back. It’s ok.”

“That is _not_ ok!” Dean ran frantically into the hall and started hollering. “Sam! Jack! Saaaam!”

No… oh no…

“Dean,” Cas pleaded, calling out to his friend. “Please, please promise me you won’t blame Jack. You can’t blame Jack for this!”

“This is _Jack’s_ fault?!” Dean bellowed.

“No! No, it’s not his fault, it’s mine. Just mine…”

A moment later, Sam and then Jack appeared in the doorway. “Holy shit!” Sam cried. “What is that?!”

Jack pushed his way past Sam’s towering form into the room.

“No!” he cried, his face contorting in terror. “Cas, NO!” Darting forward, he grabbed Castiel’s hand.

“It’s ok, Jack,” Castiel said, trying to calm him. “It’s my time. I thought I’d gotten away but… I won’t fight it now. Please don’t try. Just… just say goodbye and let me go.” And suddenly a deep sadness swept over him—a sadness that he couldn’t be with his friends anymore, couldn’t help them in their fight, couldn’t see Jack finally triumph and see Sam and Dean happy at last. Couldn’t be happy too! It hadn’t struck him nearly this hard after Ramiel’s lance had pierced him. Perhaps he’d been too frightened for his family that night to be sad. But now…

“To hell with that!” Jack said, his eyes blazing blue and now _yellow_ as he released Castiel’s hand and took a step back. He stretched out an arm and focused all his ire at the blackness enveloping his favorite angel. A powerful surge of energy filled the room, knocking Sam and Dean back against the walls—but the Empty was unscathed. The darkness just seemed to absorb the pulse like a black hole. It crawled up to Castiel’s hips, sucking at his dwindling grace—which felt to be burning him alive—and he was really beginning to have trouble focusing.

Jack regrouped and tried again, but again to no avail.

“What the fuck is _happening_?” Dean demanded.

Jack hollered at the Empty, trying a different tack. _“Show yourself!”_ he commanded. And the Empty did.

It took on Jack’s own form, pausing in its consumption of Castiel and rising up to meet the boy.

“You are strong, young one,” the Empty sneered at Jack, while Dean and Sam watched wide-eyed from the floor. “But you can’t destroy _nothing,_ now can you? Come now, Castiel and I made an arrangement, and you all got what you wanted. You live, boy. I see you even found your soul. But Castiel’s happiness called to me—and now he is mine. That was the deal.”

“Castiel made a _bad_ deal, and I’m breaking it,” Jack snarled, and Castiel thought fleetingly that that sounded vaguely familiar.

“Is that so? You are powerful, but not as powerful as Emptiness.” The false Jack winked and dissolved in an instant, back into the darkness that now crept up over Castiel’s belly and chest, moving faster, sealing his fate.

Castiel gasped, reaching out to Jack, and seeing that his fingers were also beginning to blacken and dissolve. “Jack… Dean…Sam…” he groaned. He turned his gaze on his best friend. “I’m sorry. I love you so much. I only wish…”

“NO!” Jack broke in, and the last thing Castiel saw was Jack’s dark, determined look and blazing eyes as the boy loomed over him, and the palm of Jack’s hand landed on his forehead.

Next thing he knew, he was quaking, gasping, and opened his eyes to see Jack still hovering over him. He blinked up at the boy, confused. He could feel Jack’s hands on his face… he could _feel…_ but there was no more burning grace, no more devouring cold… and no more blackness. The Empty had gone.

“What happened?” he heard himself breathe.

Sam and Dean appeared on either side of him squinting and blinking like they’d just been blinded. “Cas!” Dean cried. “How are you _alive_?” He turned to Jack. “What did you _do?”_

Jack sighed, standing up straight and backing up a step. “What I had to. The Empty can only take demons and angels.”

“You mean you just… so he…” Dean babbled.

And Cas suddenly understood.

“I expelled his grace,” Jack stated matter-of-factly.

“How did you do that without killing him?” Sam asked.

Dean grasped Castiel’s arm and pulled him to his feet, staring at him hard. “How d’you feel?” he asked.

Castiel blinked at him. Stared hard. It was true—he was human. Again. He had lost his grace’s bond to Dean’s soul. Again. But Dean’s hand on his arm was warm and solid, and Dean’s concern evident. Castiel’s stomach clenched, his chest tightening, and his eyes began to sting as a wave of emotion rolled through him.

This wasn’t good at all. Jack saved his life, and he remained with the people he loved—but how could he protect them now? He was powerless, and at the time they needed him most. It seemed an even crueler fate than he’d nearly suffered just moments ago. Instead of falling asleep forever, now he would watch the end of the world helplessly from the sidelines. Win or lose, he would simply be a liability in the fight.

He had failed Dean again.

Dean was watching him, brow furrowed, waiting for an answer. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a moment. Then he said “I feel… I feel I need some air.”

He pulled away from Dean and stumbled from the room, away from Sam, from Jack, from the TV paused during a beer commercial. He walked down the hall, through the War Room, up the stairs, his boots ringing on the steps. Dean called to him, following behind, but Castiel couldn’t stop. He was not an angel anymore. He was human. A soulless, graceless human.

Castiel slammed the bunker door open, lurching into the darkness outside. He could feel the cool of the night, the breeze in his hair, but he couldn’t see where he was going. He couldn’t see. It was dark—so dark—not even a moon and he was human and he couldn’t see, and he stopped fifty yards down the dark access road, under the trees, and stood panting in his shirtsleeves.

“Hey!” Dean called behind him again. “Stop, Cas!”

A moment later, Dean caught up, his hand landing on Cas’ shoulder. Castiel was glad it was dark, so he couldn’t see the disappointment on Dean’s face. So Dean couldn’t see the emotion on his.

“Where the hell’re you going?” Dean demanded.

“Nowhere,” he answered, and it came out more plaintively than he intended. “I’m going nowhere. I…” He turned from Dean, trying to gather himself. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” he moaned. “I know… I know this is bad. I never intended this. It’s not what you need right now.” Dean grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, easily overpowering him. He was forced to look into his friend’s eyes. “I will do everything I can to assist you,” he blurted. “I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll try my hardest. I know it won’t be much, but…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about being a graceless, useless, soulless _human_!” Castiel nearly shouted at him, his heart pounding. “You’re in the fight of your lives and I’ve lost all my power!”

Cas could see Dean’s scowl even in the dark. “So??” He always had to be contrary.

“So I should just as well be dead, rather than a millstone around your necks.”

Dean dropped his hands, spun away a few steps, and came back bristling. “You listen to me, dumbass. Just because you can’t heal my papercuts anymore doesn’t make you useless.” Castiel could hear the bunker door clang behind someone else, and footsteps approaching on the gravel. “And I don’t care if you _are_ graceless and… and soulless… you’re still my friend, you’re _not_ useless, and I’m not throwing you away.”

“But he’s not…” came Jack’s voice, before his face emerged from the shadows.

“Not _what_?” Dean snapped.

“Not soulless.”

Castiel turned to see the boy, with Sam close behind. “I’m not?”

“No.” And there was that sweet, innocent smile again. Innocent, yet knowing more than he ought to.

Cas was suddenly struck by an awful thought. Just when Jack got his soul back… “You _didn’t_ … not _your_ soul!”

“Well I was going to give you a piece of mine, if that’s what it took—but it didn’t.”

“You mean you _made_ him a soul?” Sam butted in, breathless.

“No—I can’t do that. I don’t think. No, Castiel—you had your own. It was just a bud, but I felt it open.”

“A bud… you mean like an infant has?”

“A _baby_ soul?” Dean said.

Castiel’s hands floated to his chest, as if he could feel it. Well he could certainly feel something—all these emotions. Come to think of it, he was reacting the same way Jack had after visiting the garden and getting his soul back. Like a hot human mess.

“But I’ve never been to the garden.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been human,” Sam offered. “You had a soul _then_ , didn’t you? Didn’t you say you thought Metatron…”

“Perhaps I did,” he replied, squinting in the darkness at all their shadowed faces.

“Soul or no soul, angel or no angel, you belong here,” Dean declared. He turned to Jack. “And so do you. End of story. Now get back in the bunker, it’s cold out here. My nipples can cut glass right now.”

There seemed to be no arguing with that, so Castiel turned with the rest of them and headed back. Come to think of it, he _was_ cold, the wind cutting through his thin dress shirt. He wrapped his arms around himself, and felt Dean’s hand land on his lower back—just like earlier. But this time, rather than simply being aware of it, he _felt_ it: the warmth of Dean’s palm, the fingers splayed across his backbone, the gentle pressure his friend exerted. Castiel stopped short, and Dean stopped beside him, his body turning in, and Cas suddenly wanted to embrace him. Instead, he let himself lean in just a bit—enough to press his shoulder to Dean’s, and tip his head close enough to smell the warm scent of Dean’s neck. It smelled like home.

“You ok?” Dean murmured.

“I think I will be.”

***

It was very late, but they were all too wired to sleep, and Sam concluded it would be best if they all just stayed together and watched TV. Castiel readily agreed; he sensed he wasn’t the only one who really didn’t want to be alone. They all seemed to need one another close now—physically and emotionally. Life outside God’s favor could feel too heavy and frightening to bear on one’s own—for either humans or angels.

They all stood outside Dean’s room and waited while Castiel dragged on a pair of Dean’s sweatpants and an old flannel shirt, and when he came out, Dean reached out to him and straightened the collar, then turned the unbuttoned cuffs up one at a time. “There,” he said. “Comfy?”

Castiel sighed. “Yes.”

Sam snatched the remote, sat down in the big recliner and kicked back, while Dean grabbed one end of the couch, and Jack perched beside him. Castiel sank down on the other end, remembering again what it took to “get comfortable.” Finding a way to sit that would keep his legs and back from becoming stiff and sore after a short time. Making sure his clothing wasn’t twisted up beneath or behind him or pinching his testicles. Being human could be such a chore. He watched Sam and Dean make their own adjustments, settling back and preparing to argue over the night’s entertainment.

“Hey, Cas, you’re in luck! Another _Star Trek_!” Dean crowed.

Sam groaned but knew better than to argue.

“Aw c’mon, Sam, you like this one—it has whales in it.”

“Yeah, dude, whatever. Maybe Jack hasn’t seen it for the hundredth time yet.”

“Cas has only seen it 99 times,” Dean quipped.

“That’s not even close to accurate,” Castiel observed. Then smiled. “It’s well over 250.”

Dean laughed, Sam snorted, and Castiel found his face pulling into a grin.

Jack turned to look at him in awe. “Really?” And it must have been Castiel’s human grin that made his face light up, too, his eyes twinkling. “You’re joking.”

“Yes, I am,” Cas admitted, and reached out impulsively to touch Jack’s hair, run a thumb along the outer shell of his ear. He’d never felt Jack with human fingers before. Jack’s skin was even softer than Dean’s.

So here it was, he realized—the hidden gift. Only hours earlier, he had wished again that he could experience Dean with human senses. His wish was granted! Perhaps he could no longer heal his friends with his grace, or smite their enemies with one hand—but that hardly mattered in a fight against _God_ anyhow. What he _could_ still offer his friends—his family—was love and companionship. He could eat and drink with them, touch and soothe them, cook them food that would taste good. He could feel and smell and see and hear his family the way other humans did.

This time, he would not take that for granted. This time, he would enjoy his humanity to the utmost. This time, he knew just how short life could be.

“Jack,” he said, resting his hand on the nephilim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful tonight. I hope you understand that I’m very grateful. It’s all a bit of a shock, but I… I’ve done this before. And I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Better than fine. You gave me a second chance. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack said cordially.

“Yeah,” Sam chipped in. “Thanks, Buddy.”

“You did the right thing,” Dean allowed, giving Jack an awkward pat on the leg.

“It was what any of you would have done, if you could,” Jack observed. “It was only logical.”

Sam chuckled at that, and Castiel caught Dean glancing at him with a raised brow.

They relaxed together in comfortable silence, then, watching the familiar faces on the television. Sam pulled the old plaid blanket over his chest and soon began to snore softly. Castiel gazed a long time at Dean’s sleepy face in profile, at the crow’s feet around his eyes that crinkled when he smiled. At the tousled hair that he’d just recently pressed his lips into—the way it caught the light and glowed a dark auburn . The two days’ growth of beard stubble that might be soft or scratchy. He’d like to find out. The plump, pouting mouth that might feel wet and warm against his own, the way April’s mouth had. He _would_ find out, he decided. Soon.

Dean glanced over at him, did a little double take. Castiel smiled. Dean’s mouth crooked up at the corner, his eyes shining.

Jack’s head bobbed forward, obscuring Castiel’s view.

“Jack,” Castiel murmured to the boy, touching his arm.

“Hmm?”

“You’re tired. Would you like to lay your head in my lap and sleep?”

“Alright,” Jack said without hesitation, and tucked his head down on Castiel’s thigh, curling his thin body into the middle of the sofa and plopping one socked foot into Dean’s lap. He heaved a contented sigh, and Castiel felt that might just be the loveliest sound he’d ever heard. He reached down, smoothing the hair off Jack’s forehead, marveling at its silkiness, and noting the weight and warmth of Jack’s head on his leg. It was so good to have him so close, to give him this tenderness. He stroked the boy’s head a few more times, then rested his hand carefully on Jack’s shoulder, watching as his boy… his son… the most powerful being on the planet… fell asleep in his lap.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in a sort of altered state, when Dean’s voice broke through.

“Hey. Cas.”

He finally looked up.

“You even watching the movie?”

“Mmm. Not really. But I like listening.”

Dean nodded, smiling a wistful smile that Castiel didn’t quite understand. Until Dean looked pointedly at Jack, then back at him. “You’re a good dad, you know that?”

That felt good. Very good. “Am I?”

“Yeah. Yeah you are. I get the feeling you’ll be an even better one now.” Then Dean grinned. “You and your little mini-me. Spock and Baby Spock.”

Dean stretched an arm across the back of the couch toward him, and impulsively, Cas reached back, laying a hand over Dean’s. Dean snorted a little, then tipped his wrist up, tenting their hands, and pushing his palm flat against Castiel’s.

“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die, why I went back for you,” Dean recited solemnly.

Cas recognized the line… Kirk’s line… and grinned. “Because you are my friend,” He answered, and split his fingers into the Vulcan salute. Dean followed suit.

“Live long and prosper, my friend,” Dean whispered.

Cas thought fleetingly about the future Jack had shown him, and everything he hoped for all of them, despite the terror that likely lay ahead. He lifted his chin and gave the only logical reply.

“Peace and long life to us all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did this make you happy? I hope so. Please leave some love - comments make my day! Be safe and well and warm today :)


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